


bad ideas

by preromantics



Category: Community
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's a bad idea. Not even bad as in faking your education for the better part of your non-adolescent life or buying a fake chrome car stick-on declaring 'HYBRID' in big letters so he can park in the specially marked close parking stalls. Not that he does that.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	bad ideas

Alright, maybe Jeff expects Annie to wear cotton underwear, despite evidence to the contrary, and maybe he even likes thinking about it sometimes.

It's a bad idea. Not even bad as in faking your education for the better part of your non-adolescent life or buying a fake chrome car stick-on declaring 'HYBRID' in big letters so he can park in the specially marked close parking stalls. Not that he does that.

She's young, (supple, soft, her breasts just a palmful each, the perfect size for him to hold, roll over her nipples with his thumbs). She's a little obsessive, (fingers that would probably not hold back, that would curl around his dick and stroke, careful not to leave out any inch, careful to swipe her thumb over the head once she got the feel for it). Sometimes she talks too much, (lips that would probably be soft, hesitant against his own and then biting and warm). Sometimes she talks too little, keeps little secrets locked up inside, (noises escaping high from her throat but not through parted lips as he thrust into her, her heels digging into his back, her teeth digging into her lip.)

He doesn't think about it too much, is the thing. A healthy amount, maybe, not enough to encourage her (he wants to, wants to know what she'd feel like with her thighs tense around his head, his hands stilling her enough so he could lick up against her clit, make her come apart, to be not so put together) except -- 

Now she's actually standing in front of him, a year of thinking and not-doing and thinking entirely too much about it, and all Jeff can think about is her underwear. Not the hundreds of little other things he'd been thinking about that he wouldn't let a halfwit school therapist ever analyze let alone a real shrink. 

"I had you pegged as cotton," Jeff says, trying not to shift in his chair and failing, eyes following the line of lace pressed low against her stomach, down against the tops of her thighs, shadows of little red marks just barely biting in.

Annie's lips twitch at the sides, and somehow Jeff knows he's been caught, knows she must know he'd thought about her. Maybe it was obvious all along. "Maybe I wore the lace just for you," Annie says, hooking her thumbs under the band along her hips, just barely sliding the lace an inch lower.

Jeff should be -- doing, not sitting, not watching and wondering why now, why he hadn't given in before, what happened to the list of pros and cons with the cons far outweighing the pros (only when he was sober or not jerking off or watching Annie laugh from across a library table.) Instead of getting up, his hands hot with the need to touch and explore, Jeff sits and takes it all in.

"Jeff," Annie says, after a second, just as Jeff is going to ask  _why._  Like he's ever needed to know before, with any other woman -- girl. Like he didn't just get right down to what was offered without stopping.

Annie sounds more like herself, more like the Annie that Jeff knows, a little bit guarded, suspicious, and still, somehow, eager. His name is almost a question.

Jeff sucks in a breath and stands, walking towards her, standing in the middle of the room, lace and soft skin. He tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear, easy. "It's okay," he says, realizing as it comes out he's mostly telling himself. "You're -- god, Annie."

She ducks her head down for a moment, but when she looks back up at him she's grinning past her wide, searching eyes. 

Jeff breathes out a little breath from his nose, an almost-laugh. The living room is cold and Annie -- Annie isn't a living room sort of girl. He wants her on his bed, wants to take his time, wants to give her a button up to sleep in and see her hair a mess from the pillows in the morning. 

It's not right, maybe, but he wants it, and that's okay, because he's used to wanting and getting. He's just not used to wanting and getting so much.

Annie bites down on her bottom lip, small, but she wraps her arms around his neck and drags him down, unexpected. "I always thought you were the action type," she says, her nose wrinkling a little with it, too-close for his eyes to really focus on.

"And I always thought you were the cotton type," Jeff says, shrugging against her. "I guess we're even." 

Annie makes a little low noise in her throat when Jeff rolls her bottom lip between his own, wraps a hand around her to trail his fingers along the lace edging the swell of her ass, and he grins against her lips, just a little.


End file.
